Food and Fighting (Mexico, Part 2)

 

The second leg of the Taco Tour began with me waking up on a bus. I had hardly slept but now the sun was up so I could open the curtain and watch the scenery pass. What I saw was unlike any landscape I have ever seen; hundreds of thousands of tall and straight cactus, pointing up to the sky, sometimes just one big, spiky green trunk, others with several big, spiky green braches growing out from the original. The landscape was mountainous and there were several species of other succulents and non-succulents, but those cacti totally dominated, sometimes for as far as the eye could see. Sadly, this is the best photo I could get.

 

Seeing as we were only travelling up to Mexico City, for the safety reasons previously mentioned, we weren’t going to be able to see much of the desert landscapes of Mexico. Just a few days ago we had been in a tropical environment, so I was quite surprised to see the cactus this far down. In this area we also passed many Mezcal distilleries and their plantations of a species of cactus they use to ferment into a spirit.

My eyes were glued to the bus windows watching all this, except when I was interrupted by the Mexican man sitting next to me who offered some marshmallows for breakfast, and the military check point where we all got out for the bus to be searched.

We reached the town of Oaxaca (pronounced Wahaca), and even though the landscape had changed, the street food culture sure hadn’t. Here they sold all sorts of great Mexican food out on the street or inside the big food market, which is where I had all my meals. The town has a few favourites, such as fried and spiced grasshoppers, which I haven’t seen or had since Thailand. I ate a couple and they were overwhelmingly bitter and a bit too soft, nowhere near as good as the crunchy, salty ones you get on the streets of Thailand.

 

Apart from trying a bunch of local dishes, we visited some of the most euorpean-esque churches we’d seen throughout all of Central America, and wandered and rode bikes through the gridded streets.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was all going of smoothly until three weeks of hard-core street food caught up with me. I’m surprised it took that long, to be honest with you. Having several rounds of antibiotics on the ready, I was eating whatever the hell I felt like, regardless of what the hygiene of some of these vendors seemed to be. It didn’t bother me that Mexico has the highest rate of death by food related illness in the world. But when it hit, it wasn’t pleasant. Especially sharing a room with someone else. I gave it a few days to sort itself out and then when it didn’t I got back on the antibiotics again, leaving myself just enough for one more round of food poisoning before the safety of Australian food.

 A descent bout of food poisoning like that will make you feel wilted, homesick and unenthused about being alive, but it’s totally worth it. Eating on the streets is as real as it gets.

The next day I sat through the six hour bus ride to Mexico City watching more of the cactus landscapes roll past and hoping I wouldn’t suddenly explode.

Mexico City is one of the biggest cities on earth with the third highest GDP behind Chicago and NYC. It’s the reason why Mexico is moving so quickly into the ‘developed countries’ category.

 

First night in the city and we went to see the Lucha Libre – the Mexican wrestling. The stats show that Mexico is a country that has a certain knack for violence, especial drug cartel related. People are getting knocked off left, right and centre here, but mostly up north. We decided the only violence we wanted to be exposed to would be that of big guys in tights and masked on the inside of a ring, in a big stadium filled with cheering fans.  Me and Fok bought wrestling masks for the occasion, and it was a good spectacle. I’ve seen the Americans wrestle in Australia, the Japanese wrestle in Kyoto, so I was interested to see how the Mexicans dance. The wrestling was pretty bad at times - to the point of being embarrassing, and I didn’t quite understand the rules, but the characters were funny and they had some moves I’ve never seen before, the atmosphere was great – electrifying, as the Rock would say, and the whole thing was like a big shot of nostalgia back to when me and the boys lived and breathed it.

Only a couple of days later me and Fok would be wandering around some of the more dodgy looking streets in Mexico City when we would come across a tattered and littered street filled by a crowd surrounding a homemade wrestling ring in the middle of the road (think hose for ropes). We watched four overweight, underskilled, masked guys beat the shit out of each other right there in the middle of the day, in the middle of the street, in the middle of a Mexico City suburb. A highlight of Mexico.

Apart from the wrestling, we saw some impressive Aztec ruins on the edge of Mexico City, the best I’ve seen in this part of the world, and saw some ruins in the city centre, which had been partially destroyed by the Spanish for material to build the big cathedral that now overlooked the site.

 

We also saw some native dancing right in front of the cathedral, which I though was a nice contrast (I especially liked the guy dressed up as death), explored the glossy business district of town and then the more gritty other side of town, two suburbs that could have been on the opposite sides of the world, wandered down busy pedestrian streets and through parks, and ate at street stalls, and at tin y restaurants with vendors pumping out the one dish.

 

The second of five nights in Mexico City I reached 100 tacos on the Taco Tally. The picture of me is about to eat number 101. I was seriously over tortillas by then, and craving bread, but we ate at where Anthony Bourdain said the best taco is Mexico City could be found, and it was good enough to re-inspire me to eat more tacos over the following days and take my final tally to 113.

The Taco tour was over.

And so was my time with Fok. For 2 months and 20 days we had shared rooms, experiences, and the ups and downs of travel. From Cuba we travelled as friends and stayed that way right up through Central America and to Mexico. At times it was challenging but it was much more rewarding than I could have hoped, so I’m proud of the both of us for how well we managed to keep it real and how great of a time we had. Thanks buddy.

The Taco Tour (Mexico, Part 1)

                                                 

I’ve been looking forward to Mexico and Mexican food for a good while. Mexico is absolutely obsessed with tacos and violence. I chose to focus more on the tacos and challenged Fok to a Taco Tally to make 100 hundred tacos in our three weeks here.  And so the Taco Tour begins!

 

 

 

This place is street food heaven! There are street vendors and little cantinas everywhere selling hand sized tacos which vary from beef streak through marinate pork, to diced chorizo sausage – almost always served with cilantro and onion, and with a lime to squeeze, some green salsa and a red hot sauce ready by the side of your plastic bag covered plate (saves on washing up). The Mexicans eat tacos for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and so did we.

But back to the start, we crossed into Mexico through an intense military compound border crossing. There were several Km’s of high fencing and razor wire - a totally different sight to US/ MEX border crossing at Tijuana that Mum and Dad took us through back in 2006.  Mexico is where all the drugs and immigrants of Latin America are trafficked up through to the USA.

Our first destination is Mexico was Playa del Carmen. The whole coastline around this area seems to be a big amusement park for dumb, hateable tourists. I feel sorry for the local communities who have been nudged off this beautiful coastline to make way for the resorts. If not for the food, this place would be nothing but offensive to me. It’s the worst place I’ve been since I left home. Tacky, touristy, superficial, overpriced, full of drunk tourists and devoid of any cultural value  - I entered Mexico through its asshole.

We used our time in Playa to get out of Playa.

 

First to Tulum to visit the Mayan ruins right on a spectacular beach. Sadly, the sheer hordes of tourists smothered the place, and it felt no more special than the Indiana Jones Ride at Disneyland.

Our next forays were more fruitful. We visited the town of Valladolid, where we got our first glimpse of a more authentic Mexican town. Here we saw lots of street vendors, and were lucky enough to see the Palm Sunday celebrations in the town Cathedral. Mexico is an extremely religious country, 90% of the population is Catholic. (I remember a year ago I was in Russia on Palm Sunday and they used birch branches because they have no palms.)

In this region of Mexico there is an extensive system of underground rivers and lakes. A Cenote is where the roof collapses in and leaves a big hole in the lands surface, exposing the subterranean water system below. The one we visited was touristy as all hell because it’s the top rated one, but I had enough room to swim myself so I enjoyed myself. The water was beautiful, black fish were swimming around us, and roots hang down from the tree’s that lined the rim above. A strange little landscape to be in.

Chichen Itza is the name for the most celebrated Mayan ruins in Central America. An ancient city that was not destroyed by the Spanish conquistadors because the forest grew over it and hid it, the most impressive structure in the extensive complex is a big squared pyramid. This is considered one of the modern wonders of the world.

 

Next we had a couple of nights at Cancun. I wanted no part of it but Fok though we should check it out, so I was perfectly ready to hate the place as much as Playa. But I didn’t. Yes, it was grotesque, a long line of extravagant hotels on the water, like the Las Vegas strip wedged on a sand strip between the Caribbean and a big lagoon. It was a spectacle though, quite amazing really. And the beach really was beautiful it’s the reason why the Mexican Government selected this location in the 70’s to develop and draw in American tourists.

Maybe the reason I didn’t hate it so much is because we were tucked away in the local part of town -  a ten minute drive from ‘the strip’. This suited us much better and we ate some of the best Mexican food we’d have in all of Mexico, surrounded by locals who were just as happy as us to ignore the rich tourist in their high hotels by the water and focus on the great tacos and quesadillas the vendors were serving up.

On a side note, they put chilli or hot salsa on everything here. I even ordered a mango sorbet and the vendor put chilli on top. A weird taste.

On another side note, in the streets of Cancun we were offered drugs and children for sex.

Next we went to Merida, which is a small colonial city and capital of the Yucatan State. It is considered the safest city in Mexico, and is growing rapidly as people from up north of the country temporarily or permanently leave their hometowns to escape the escalating violence. Our trip in Mexico takes us only about half way up. Above that it’s too dangerous because of the drug cartels fighting for power and opportunity to get drugs across the border up to the hungry, high paying US of A. Mexico now has 9 out of the top 20 most dangerous cities in the world by murder rate, and is only getting worse thanks to politician and police corruption (the military are apparently the only ones who haven’t been deeply corrupted). Mexico is on a steep descent.

But down in the safer, southern region, Merida is a cool town were the Taco Tour steam rolled ahead. It was a great town to just wander, checking out the big markets and exploring any street that intrigued me from the corner – not something I was game to do in the previous countries we visited or that I’d be game to do in most other parts of Mexico.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then to Campeche, a perfectly restored colonial town, which almost has the feel of a movie set. The streets are picturesque but somewhat lifeless. We walked along the old defence walls, sat in the park next to the cathedral that looked spectacular when lit up at night, and spent our three afternoons in town at the waterfront watching the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico.

 

Here I had a few good tacos, but also one of the worst meals of my life. I ordered a dish called Mondongo from a market cantina, which I knew was made from the guts and gizzards of the chicken but I wanted to try because it’s a region specialty. I’ve had gizzards before and they were quite nice, fried crispy and spiced. Mondongo is a soup of rubbery, wet and chewy gizzards in a bitter broth. I thought after all the things I’ve eaten I would be able to at least get the soup down to a polite level in which it could be left. But no, the gizzards got me, and I walked from the cantina shamed.

 

Easter came and passed without a single chocolate egg – we had tacos instead.

From Campeche we got an overnight bus up into the mountains. I dread sleeping on buses. It’s usually me sitting awake and listening to moody night music and watching the darkness outside pass as the rest of the bus sleeps, but after a few hours of that I finally drifted.

San Cristobel del las Casas was where we got off the bus. Up higher it was much cooler, and wandering through the town to find our accommodation immediately woke me up and put me in high spirits. This town is what I expected from Mexico. Apart from having a great feel, some picturesque streets and interesting local characters (a strong Mayan presence here as we are back down towards the Guatemala border), San Cristobal had the cheapest tacos we would find at 2 peso a pop. That converts to 16 cents Aussie. Sure, they weren’t filling, but they were descent enough to keep going back for more.

Our taco tally was rising on its way to 100, and we got on another night bus to head northwards.

 

 

 

Go Slow (Belize)

Belize really stood out from the other Central American countries. The first thing that hit me once we had crossed the border was that I could understand the conversations of strangers. For more than six months I have been in non-English speaking countries, so it felt strange when it was all around me in the busy bus. There was a novelty in listening in and understanding the conversations of the locals.

Belize speaks English because it was part of the British empire. The country has a laid back Caribbean vibe – its national motto is ‘go slow.’ It has a population that looks different to the rest of Central America because the majority of their ancestors were slaves brought over from Africa, so most of them are negro. There are a lot of Rastafarian guys lazily stumbling around the place too. It’s a small country with a population of less than 400 thousand people, so going slow and taking it easy is not hard to do.

 

 

I got a taste for this the first afternoon in San Ignacio when we went to a local market to buy fruit. I heard some music (probably reggae) so I followed the sound down to the river where a huge crowd of people were out swimming, adults chilling on the bank under a big beer tent, the kids jumping off the bridge into the river, and people just lying about wherever. A typical weekend afternoon for the Belize.

 

Near the town of San Ignacio we stayed at an ecolodge which featured little cabins spread throughout a big property and compost toilets. It was here that the basic accommodation got to some people. We had to move along a big spider and then a short while later a scorpion, but the place was alright compared to some of the other dives I’ve stayed. Safe to say I’ve been desensitised.  

Here we had beer for breakfast, spent time in the nearby river, played Frisbee golf and cooked up a BBQ at night.

To get around Belize we caught the chicken buses, as we had done in Guatemala. These buses look like a typical USA school bus that has gone through hell and come out the other side with a new paintjob. It’s a great way to travel around the place, get to see lots of interesting characters get on and off.

Another thing to mention is that no-one in our group was robbed while in Belize.

Belize City was interesting to see, however briefly. This is the epitome of a Caribbean capital city. The buildings are all low and slightly shackish looking, things move at an appropriately slow pace, and everyone is friendly and relaxed. If we weren’t informed about the excessive violent crime and hurricane disasters here I’d think it to be the most laid back capital in the world.

From the small capital we caught a ferry out to Cay Caulker, and island on the Belize Barrier Reef. This is the second biggest reef is the world, and the islands along it are pure Caribbean fantasy; not just the cliché palm trees, powdery white sand and turquoise waters, which were no doubt impressive, but it was the whole mood of the place that made it; the streets of sand, the meaningless of the clock, bicycles instead of cars, the hand painted restaurant signs with words misspelt, the purposeless meanderings of the locals, the rickety jetties, the waves breaking on the reef on the horizon.

And Caribbean food of course, the highlight of which was the jerked chicken. The main road of Cay Caulker was white sand and halfway along the front of three streets people would come out with their big half gallon drums, find a good spot near some shade, put up their little sign, and BBQ throughout the day, serving up spicy jerked chicken with coconut rice and coleslaw. You eat it there on the side of the road, under the palms, a few metres from the water. It doesn’t matter how much it makes you sweat because you can go jump in the water right after. The setting of a good street food meal is rarely this luxurious.

We had three days on the island to swim and wander around. I liked that it wasn’t too developed or touristy. We also went out to the reef on a sailing boat and got a chance to swim with stingrays, sharks and turtles. The reef itself wasn’t nearly as nice as I’ve seen is Australia, but the wildlife was good. I’ve swam with rays and sharks before, so what appealed to me the most was the Moray Eel. And ugly, gnarly creature that one. Cruising back to the island after a few hours of snorkelling we drank rum punch and made stops to dive off the top of the boat into the water. It was a long afternoon that would blur into a longer night.

Oh Belize, you taught me that it’s a sunnier world when your one responsibility is to go slow.

Home of the Mayans (Guatemala)

I was thinking that these Central American countries might all be quite similar, but as we passed through these countries I was surprised to see how distinctly different each one is. While Guatemala has the volcanoes and colonial towns that I’ve seen all the way through Central America, it has a completely different feel because unlike anywhere else, the majority of the population are direct descendants of the Mayan people. This means lots of short people in colourful dress and garb, and a notable presence of this ancient culture that has been somewhat swallowed up in the other countries. Guatemala is the last remaining home to the Mayans.

 

There are no photos of these people up close because I can’t bring myself to giving local people anywhere the ‘zoo exhibit’ treatment (something older western tourists have no problem with). That’s why I can’t show their intricate dresses, or their interesting hats and jewellery, or the weathered looks upon their faces. But it was all around me.

 

A key image that remains in my mind is from one Sunday that I walked into a crumbling church in the old capital of Antigua. In the distance a volcano was venting, and I was exploring the town by myself. I entered this church and was blown away by two things; firstly, this church that looked crumbled from the outside was in perfect condition inside, and looked like one of the great churches I saw in Europe, complete with sombre, dull coloured paintings of Christ being crucified etc. In stark contrast to that was the crowd that filled the church -  all Mayans, all in wildly colourful clothes, all looking completely out of place. It seemed like such a culture contrast. Turns out the catholic church has been able to reconcile Christianity with Mayan ideology, so these folks go in and pray for their idols, and thank JC for whatever at the same time.

When we entered Guatemala we drove straight through the capital, Guatemala City, because it is not safe. We were told that, up until a few years ago, being a bus driver in Guatemala City was considered the most dangerous job in the world. Countless bus drivers were killed when gunmen pulled over a bus to rob the people on board. This happened so frequently that the government had to roll out a new series of buses that increased security for the driver. Also, in some parts of Guatemala City police or ambulances don’t even go. These areas are so bad that if an ambulance entered its driver would be killed and the vehicle would be broken down to sell as used parts. These parts of the city are like their own little worlds filled with poverty, disease and casual murder.

We went to Antigua instead, one of my favourite towns in all of Central America. This used to be the Spanish capital, and has some really nice, colourful streets in the colonial style, with a big park and a huge cathedral that’s had its roof collapse in the centre of town (an epic old ruin that I wandered around one afternoon). At the edge of town was the big market, one of the best I’ve seen in the world. It sold everything from boiled iguanas and big slabs of crocodile meat, to pirate Hollywood films in Spanish, to traditional dress, to rip off Nike shoes. This is where I came to eat most of my meals, and brought whoever was game to try some of what the locals were eating (and paying). Overlooking all this was a massive volcano that could be seen rising above the surroundings from anywhere in the town.

 

We went and climbed to the base of the nearby volcano named Picaya. It was cool to walk on the recent lava flow, and we saw into a crack where there remained a red glow (cue the marshmellows). I stood there at sunset turning my head one way to see an amazing volcano up close, then turning my head the other way to see another one in the distance, rising out of the sea of clouds that hovered over the lower altitudes.

 

Leaving Antigua we made for Lake Atitlan by bus. These buses are known as chicken buses, though I’m not sure why. They are the common means of transport for most of the population, and are incredibly crowded. We caught four consecutively to get to the lake, and somewhere amongst all the crowded chaos my travelling companion Fok, and another girl, had valuables stolen from their bags. (Fok’s was on his lap the whole time).

Lake Atitlan is impressive. This is a favourite destination for Guatemalans and I can see why. It’s a large freshwater lake surrounded by several cone volcanoes and several small towns. We stayed at a town on the south bank, called Panajachel, and then in a small Mayan village on the north bank.

 

On the south bank I spent dusk at the end of a rickety pier overlooking the vast lake and the three volcanoes on the opposite bank. It was a spectacular evening. There were some ducks paddling near me and a few boatmen who passed and nodded their heads. That dusk was epic, one of the many moments I have had along the way that justifies quitting my job and spending my money. d be broken down to sell as used parts. These parts of the cioty are like their own little worlds; they have no serv

The following day we got a boat to cruise us around the lake stopping at a few different towns and villages. We swam in the cold waters of the lake, and saw where its mysterious rise over the last fifty years had claimed several wharfs, lower patios, and parts of houses. At one point I was in the water up to my chin standing on top of a railing that was once and outdoor veranda.

 

In one stop our guide took us up into the middle of town, then down a narrow alley and into a shack. It all seemed very strange, but it was about to get stranger. I’ve seen some whacky things in my time on the road, and what I’m about to recount is right up there. First thing I notice in this dingy little room is a three foot wooden doll, carved to look like an old man. He has traditional garb on, and a cowboy hat. Not only is he a Mayan idol, but the Catholic church is telling the Mayans that what they actually mean is that he is Lucifer. Whatever. This doll has a cigarette burning in his mouth. Intermittently, a man (the priest, of sorts) takes out the cigarette and knocks off the ash, like the doll is an old decrepit man who can’t move his arms.

Things get weirder when they begin to pour rum into its mouth, and pat his mouth with cloth when it spills everywhere. Things get weirder still when I notice that this little ceremony has shifted its focus to the fat old women and the young guy kneeling on the floor in front of this doll. The priest picks up a large glass of rum and pours it into his mouth. Okay, seems fitting I guess. But no, he doesn’t swallow it. Instead, he suddenly and shockingly spits it directly into the kneeling woman’s face. Not one spray, but several, covering her whole face and head. So unexpected and weird this is that a girl in our group runs outside the shack temple to burst into laughter. The rest of us stand their shocked as rum trickles down the woman’s blank face. Next the young fella kneeling gets his rum facial. When that’s done, the priest cleans out his mouth by spitting all over the floor, then lights a cigarette and puts it in the dolls mouth. We were later told that this was a cleansing ritual and the old woman and young guy where a couple with relationship issues.  

 

That night we did a homestay with a Mayan family. We helped make tortillas in the kitchen and ate with the man of the house. The women waited until we were done until they started in another room. The man knew just a little English, and me and Fok knew just a little Spanish but it was enough to have something of a conversation over dinner.

Our next destination was cabins on a mangrove off to the side of a big river for a couple of days. The little back deck to our cabin extended over the mangroves and we watched turtles swim below. Here it was hot and humid, pushing 40 degrees. Pure discomfort. From here we went and swam in a river that had a hot spring waterfall flowing down over the rocks into it. The mixed hot and cold water made for great swimming and we jumped off the top of the waterfall (Fok had to be pushed after standing at the top determined but frozen in place for 1 hour  – I kid you not).

 

And then to another lake, this one smaller but rising all the same. This one had risen so much in recent years that it had inundated some roads around the outside of the edge of the small, urban island called Flores. It was quite funny to see street lights on when their base and the streets below them were fully submerged. Here we ate some good street food (all air temp so slightly risky) and swam some more.

 

 

 

Our last stop was the ruin complex of Tikal. These are some of the best Mayan ruins, and must have been a massive city filled with thousands of people back in the day, because the area was huge. The forest that surrounded the ruins was home to crocodiles (which killed three workers last year), jaguars (which workers witnessed kill a crocodile last year), and some racoon like creatures (which wander around aimlessly killing time). We got to explore these ruins, walk up the steps on one of the medium pyramids, and climb over the crumbled limestone buildings like children in a giant playground

 

 

When asked why such a great and sophisticated civilisation could vanish so quickly our guide told us it’s the same thing that’s happening to the great civilisation of our time, the USA and ‘The West’ – recession. It might have had something to do with the Spanish as well. What’s left of that civilisation are the bare ruins, the bright red paint and intricate carvings long since washed away. But the descendants are still here, still following their traditions and still using their languages, making Guatemala and Central America that much more colourful.